


Ten Years

by AquaMarinara



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Apple picking prompt, Because Mari is incapable of writing anything other than fluff, F/M, Future Fic, In which the lovebirds go apple picking for their anniversary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 12:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16085759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaMarinara/pseuds/AquaMarinara
Summary: “Oh come on, Jones,” he groans as he makes for a sign labeled McIntosh, his loose suspenders swaying back and forth at his hips. “We’ve got enough Nanny Smiths as it is.”She rolls her eyes and grudgingly steps away from the ancient tractor she’d been leaning against. “It’s Granny Smiths!” she corrects indignantly, huffing as her arms cross over her chest. The little smirk he shoots her over his shoulder proves he knows exactly what he’s doing.The bastard.Of course he would know exactly how to push her buttons after four years of marriage. Four years of marriage and ten of being together. Damn. Ten years.Has it really been that long?OrBetty and Jughead go apple-picking for their anniversary.





	Ten Years

**Author's Note:**

> Isabelle (@redundantoxymorons) sent me this drabble prompt: Can you write a drabble about apple picking? (and maybe pie-making...) Love you! xxx
> 
> And it turned into this. Hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> (Big thank you to Dottie for looking over this for me at 2am last night)

Green versus red.

 

Shouldn’t have been such a hard debate.

 

Green, obviously, was the correct answer. Sour but sweet, crunchy and never floury, as if you’ve just bitten into pre-mixed cookie dough.

 

It shouldn’t have been such a hard debate.

 

Unless you were debating against Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third.

 

“Oh come on, Jones,” he groans as he makes for a sign labeled McIntosh, his loose suspenders swaying back and forth at his hips. “We’ve got enough Nanny Smiths as it is.”

 

She rolls her eyes and grudgingly steps away from the ancient tractor she’d been leaning against. “It’s Granny Smiths!” she corrects indignantly, huffing as her arms cross over her chest. The little smirk he shoots her over his shoulder proves he knows exactly what he’s doing.

 

_ The bastard. _

 

Of course he would know exactly how to push her buttons after four years of marriage. Four years of marriage and ten of being together. Damn. Ten years.  _ Has it really been that long? _

 

“Semantics,” he tells her, waving his hand around to prove just how unimportant the green apple’s name is to him. “Now get your ass over here and let’s get picking.”

 

“My ass doesn’t need you to tell it where to go, thank you very much.”

 

“Of course not, baby. But will you please just give me a hand?”

 

She stops in her tracks, combat boots dug into the dirt trail a few feet behind him. They’re about to enter the rows and rows of McIntosh trees, all left barren towards the bottom, where the season’s early harvesters have already picked away at all the readily available fruits. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

 

His grin widens, and she groans. She’s lost. She knows she’s lost. He knows she’s lost. Ten years of apple-picking on their anniversary, and she always loses. Red it is.

 

“C’mere babe,” he tells her softly, bending at the knees to set their two bags quarter-full of Granny Smiths to the ground. She approaches, slowly, and looks at him from above.

 

“I’m getting my way next year, alright?”

 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Betts,” he tells her, reaching up to swipe the beanie off his head and shove it in his back pocket. She would have knocked it off soon enough anyway.

 

Betty turns to face his back, swinging one leg after the other over and onto his shoulders, and then gripping at his hair as he starts to stand up again. The frown that had twisted her face earlier slips to reveal a bright grin when he starts for the row of trees, her fingers tangled in his hair to steady herself.

 

A younger girl with bright blue eyes and curly blonde pigtails stares at them from under a nearby tree’s branches, little fingers gripping a half-eaten apple.

 

“Is that allowed?” she whispers to her older sister, who barely even listens as she leans against the tree trunk, earbuds in and likely blaring music. When the older girl doesn’t respond, the pig-tailed cutie sets off into the next row of apple trees, hair whipping back and forth as she screams, “Daddy! I want a piggyback ride!”, into the grove.

 

Betty can hear her husband chuckle underneath her as they watch her go, his shaking shoulders jostling her around. 

 

“Yeah, Daddy, I want a piggyback ride,” she whispers down into his ear, and then his fingers wrap tightly around her calves, digging into the skin.

 

“You’re already getting one, Mommy, now grab some of those juicy reds or Mia will never let you live it down.” His tone is husky, deep, and Betty grins as she reaches into the boughs of the tree for some of the more brightly colored fruits. She loves that her words still affect him like that. Even after ten years.

 

“Who are you kidding? Mia’s not the one who throws a fit if Mommy doesn’t bake her some apple pie to go with the gallons of vanilla ice cream that  _ somehow _ end up in our freezer.” She giggles when his fingers grip her skin harder.

 

“Fine, Jones,” he groans. “It’s me. I’m the one who throws a fit. I’ll admit it. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

 

“I didn’t need to hear it, Juggie. I already knew.” He swats at her legs and she giggles, ruffling up his raven head of hair. “Now put me down or I’m going to have to spend my evening giving you a back massage instead of baking those pies.”

 

Her husband moans underneath her, unmoving. “Don’t make me choose between back massages and apple pie, babe.”

 

“Well, I’ll choose for you. Set me down, you big baby.”

 

He huffs but doesn’t hesitate to crouch down and let her off his shoulders, and she pulls an apple from the reusable bag at her feet to examine it. Red, juicy. They always were if you picked them from the top.

 

The two of them had come up with their system ten years ago, and she’s surprised her husband can still lift her up at this point. He never complains, though, and she’s not going to question it until their monthly chiropractor bill starts going up.

 

“Think we’ve got enough?” He asks as he straightens out his spine with a hand at his back, and she turns to peck his cheek.

 

“More than. Could probably feed a small army with all this fruit.”

 

“Then there’ll be just enough for both me  _ and  _ the little one.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes as he reaches to wrap his left arm around her waist, the other one shouldering the weight of their apple-picking endeavors. “I do often wonder where she gets that appetite of hers from.”

 

“It really is a mystery,” he whispers out over her head, the September breeze carrying his words with it.

 

“Good thing we’re detectives then, huh?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll add it to the list of cases we’ve yet to tackle.”

 

~~~

 

They grab a few apple cider donuts from the market on their way to the unpaved parking lot and pull out of Stewart’s Farm right as Polly’s text comes through.

 

**Mia’s napping. Should be awake by the time you guys get back.**

 

Betty can’t help but smile at the image of their daughter passed out on the couch after a long day of hanging out with her older cousins, and immediately texts her sister back.  **Thanks for looking after her today, Pol.**

 

**No problem. Hope you two had a fun day.**

 

They had, but there was no surprise there. They always did. Betty looks over to her husband as he mutters out a curse at the car that cuts them off, and she can’t help but let out a laugh of pure joy. Ten years together, four married, three with a daughter. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave any questions, comments, concerns, or reviews down below <3
> 
> (Disclaimer: I'm dumb and didn't check the AO3 tag for fics by the same title until after I'd made my aesthetic/posted this fic. There is another fic by the name "Ten Years", but I promise that's where the similarities end. I really didn't mean to offend anyone by copying their fic title. I have to go take a math quiz right now but can change the fic title afterwards if anyone needs me to. Thank you for understanding.)


End file.
